Fall - 4 minute exercise

"You have two minutes" she said, and my turqoise sweater was scratching my arms, and my words were a swirl of porridge melting into rotting milk, and I wanted to hug her, but my arms were so itchy, and I felt my feet become tree-trunks. The earth was not brown, but almost golden, with the fading yellow leaves that crunched like cookies beneath my boots. I was afraid to whisper, afraid that my voices vibrations would creep around the milky white of her neck, spreading tentacles like octupi, but could I really compare our love to an octupus? And was it our love, or just mine? And what kind of a creep was I anyway, to ponder octupi tentacles at 10 am over pancakes, on a Sunday, as she read the New York Times. "The two minutes are up", she said, popping a forkful of syrup-covered cake into her mouth. I shrugged. "You win - this time." I said. She laughed, and the sun reflected off her coffee-stained teeth. It was an autumn sunlight, full of the promise of future snowy mornings.